Escaping The Storm
by Military Mechanic
Summary: She's a small thing, really. Just a young, lonely kit trapped out in the weather. She doesn't know of the sun yet, only the black clouds above her. Barely remembers the warmth of her family, who have already been lost and swept away. The only thing she knows? Is that she cannot stop wrunning. written for the Warriors Challenge Forum


A/N: i really do love the warriors series - and have officially finished the firest set of six! only, what, three more sets to go? ...yeah, i know. i'm lame.

anywho, this is another challenge for the Warriors Challenge Forum.

* * *

It is late out, near midnight, and the moon is hidden by clouds. Always hidden, or so this young kit believes, for she has not lived long enough to see a day not ruled by storms. To hear a wind that carries birdsong instead of rolling thunder. To believe that the world _can_ be a good place, if you just look in the right places.

No, in this young she-kit's mind, the world is nothing but darkness. What light is shown comes in brief flashes, cutting through the otherwise black sky. Sometimes, this flash of light reaches down through the sky and strikes a tree. A rock. A patch of rain-soaked land.

In cases like this, a new light springs forth.

But, just like her mother always taught her, she flees from this strange warmth. She runs as fast as her thin legs can take her, going as far as she can before collapesing. Then she curls tight into a ball, draping her once pale golden tail over her muzzle, and tries to block out the devastation around her.

Eventually, the process must be repeated. And she runs, fast and far, just like her father commanded her too. Never stopping, even when the water is resting over her paws and splashing onto her body. Chilled to the bone she is, but then she doesn't know any different.

It is during one such burst of movement, when she darts from beneath an elderberry bush and towards a clump of holly, that it happens. Her pawsteps slap onto the wet ground, used to the way that the mud clings to her fur and cakes inbetween her pads, and the noise is drowned out by thunder.

Then it is gone completely, as the slick mud swallows up her paws. She lets out a horrified yowl, but that too is caught up in the wind and muted. Panicked, she begins to flail. Yanking on her paws, thrashing about, trying as hard as she can to just _get free_.

But the dense mud refuses to loosen it's grip and, soon, she finds that she is all but coated in the foul stuff. It clings to her body, weighting her down and keeping her from moving. A large glob is caked over one eye, burning it like nothing she has ever felt before, and small droplets are stuck to her fragile whiskers. From her shoulders down, she is completely submerged.

And it is so very, very hard to breath.

-x-x-x-

"I'm positive that I smelled something, Thistlestorm. Positive!" a deep, almost gravelly voice insists.

Someone else answers, but they are too far away for the small kit to make out the words. The only thing she can tell, in this brief lapse of madness and terror, is that it's a she-cat. One that sounds vaguely like her mother, were her mother a younger cat.

Without thinking, the young she-kit once more tries to move. The viscous liquid has a tight hold on her though and, just like every time she had tried during the night, she finds that she cannot move at all. So she does the next best thing, following advice given to her by her uncle.

_If in doubt, ask for help._

"H-help!" she wails, and her voice comes out shrill and high-pitched. The fear is evident in it, as is the pain and the exhaustion and the heavy feeling of loss.

For a moment there is silence. Nothing but the still churning wind can be heard, and she worries that they didn't hear her. Already left even, after deciding that her fear-scent was truly just a figment of their imagination.

Then a twig cracks in half and hope rises in her chest, giving her the energy to cry for help once more. "P-please, he-help!"

The sound of brush being trampled, slightly muted from the heavy rainfall the night before, can be heard. Then another voice, the one belonging to the tom.

"Over here, Thistlestorm!" it cries. "Over here!"

For the first time, the small kitten dares to hope.

-x-x-x-

"She's alive." Dawncloud informs her leader, voice loud in the otherwise still morning air. They are the only two cats awake at the moment, huddled down in the medicine cat den to try and avoid the weather.

Mintstar lets out a relieved sigh, dark blue eyes slipping shut. She got no sleep the night before. Up the entire time, pacing her den. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Worried about the young kit that her patrol found but forbidden from checking on her until morning.

"That's good." she tells her friend. "When they brought her in, she was so still. I was worried that she would be joining StarClan before her time."

"She may still, Mintstar." Dawncloud says, turning her light amber gaze onto her paws instead. Dark bits of mud cake the cream fur and, for a moment, she is caught up in the hysteria of the night before once more.

_"hold her shoulders, Tawnypaw!" she cries. "hold her shoulders tight!" her apprentice nods, eyes narrowed in determination, and Dawncloud waits no longer. she clenches her maw down on the frail, hindleg of her patience and twists._

_bone cracks. snaps. and, though the bend is not as predominant, the leg is still malformed. _

_twisted at the knee, slightly to the left._

_ruined._

"Oh, StarClan!" Mintstar breaths out, eyes widening as the other she-cat recounts her tale. The story sends a trill of pain through her chest, wondering just how devastated the young kit will be when she wakes up.

Because she will, the leader decides.

She has to.

-x-x-x-

When the small kit wakes up, it is to darkness. Just like she is used too. But, she soon realizes, this darkness isn't made from swirling clouds. There is no rain pounding down on her young body, no thunder echoing in her ears.

For the first time in many days, she is not cold. She is not wet. And, with a start, she realizes that she is in a nest somewhere.

"H-hello?" she asks, senses and mind still fogged with sleep. As they clear, one by one, she can take in more of her surroundings.

The sweet scent of moss, tainted by something foul and acrid.

The fact that it is dark because she is in a den beneath a large bush, the branches woven together tight enough to block out any light.

The fact that her left hindleg feels odd. As though she has slept on it wrong and, now, it is fast asleep. Numb. Tingling. Maybe even a little painful.

Wrinkling her nose, she twists her head around to look at the limb - only to have her attention captured by the she-cat walking into the den.

"StarClan above, you're awake!" the strange cat exclaims, dropping her vole by her paws. She is clean of mud now, cream pelt freshly groomed and finally dry.

Now that the rain has stopped, she has a reason to keep herself presentable.

"Awake?" the little kit asks, tilting her head ever so slightly. "Was I asleep for long?"

"Very long." Dawncloud explains with an amused purr. Then she pads across the den, whose floor is still slightly damp, and over to her patient. "But it's alright now, little one. You'll be fine."

-x-x-x-

"She'll need a name, Mintstar." Dawncloud meows one morning, as she pads into the den of her leader. "And she'll need a mother for a while longer."

Mintstar stares at the lighter she-cat with wide eyes for a long moment before she speaks, just running the words around in her mind. A name and a mother. A title and a family.

"Does this mean she's going to make it?" she finally asks, tail twitching slightly.

Dawncloud nods. "Yes. She'll live."

"You sound uneasy, Dawncloud." Mintstar says, walking over to the medicine cat. She drapes her light grey tail over the other she-cat's shoulders. "What haven't you told me yet?"

Silence - then Dawncloud lets out a strangled cry. She feels worthless right then, for letting down both her leader and the un-named kit. For not being able to give the young she-cat the life that she deserves...

"Her leg...Oh, Mintstar, I couldn't save her leg!" Dawncloud whimpers, tail drooping to lay on the moss-coated ground. "I couldn't save it!"

-x-x-x-

"Morningkit..." Mintstar says, giving the young kit a gentle nudge into the den. "This is the nursury."

The pale she-kit stumble slightly as she pads foreward, left hindleg dragging the ground behind her. She looks around with wide eyes, taking in the unfamiliar sights and scents. Thick briars surround her, blocking out the light from the morning sun and forming a protective barrier around the nursing queens and their kits. The scent of moss and mother's milk, both sweet and warm and welcoming, is almost over-whelming to the young cat.

She has spent the last several days in a den of bitter herbs, after all, and before that knew only the scent of the rain and moist earth.

"Oh." Morningkit says. "Is this where I'll be living now?"

"Yes, little one." the older she-cat purrs. "This is where you'll be living now. And that cat over there? She's going to take care of you. Her name's Nightsplash."

Said black she-cat looks over at them, a loud purr rising from her throat. She doesn't move, for fear of disturbing the two equally dark kits curled up at her belly, but her green eyes shine with welcome.

There's a lapse of silence as, once more, Morningkit looks around the den. It is a small one, big enough for three queens and their kits. Only one is inside at present - and outside, Morningkit knows, is the rest of the Clan. The sleek and lithe cats made for hunting and tracking, called Protectors. The strong and powerful cats that were created for fighting, called Warriors. The deputy, the medicine cat, the apprentices.

They live together here, in this camp surrounded by brambles, under the rule of Mintstar.

In good weather, they sleep together in the clearing, beneath the sky that they claim their ancestors hunt in. In bad weather, they share dens with one another.

Fight together, hunt together, live together. They keep each other safe, or so Dawncloud explained earlier that morning. It's what makes them a Clan. A family of cats who are not truly kin but are not truly strangers.

"Welcome to CloudClan, little one." Mintstar tells the young she-cat. "Welcome to CloudClan."


End file.
